


Open Sketchbook

by 00Fangirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00Fangirl/pseuds/00Fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what, don't ever, EVER, touch an artist's open sketchbook. There are demons hidden in there that the world isn't ready to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Sketchbook

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this idea came from, I was writing a prumano one-shot (about cop Lovi and street artists Gil) and out of nowhere I got the words stuck in my brain and BAM! Four, collective (this was written in sporadic bursts) hours later, this!
> 
> Personal Headcannons used in this fic:  
> -Feliciano is older than Ludwig, but not by much.  
> -Ludwig is quiet and awkward at first, but the more you talk to him the more his playful, sarcastic side shows.  
> -Feliciano is a childish, sarcastic, clumsy, dramatic son-of-a :)  
> -Prumano <3 (My love for this ship is too much)

**Open Sketchbook**

_ “My sketchbook is the opposite of my job. It’s like a pocket-sized vacation. … No one knows I keep these books; it’s a dirty secret. When I draw, I wander off alone. When people are around, I always put the book away”  
– Bill Brown _

A calming, homogenous mixture of classical Italian music and wordy Italian complaints seeped throughout the walls of the house. Feliciano brushed his paintbrush on the canvas idly as he hummed along to the thick, soothing voice of Luciano Pavarotti’s _Una Furtiva Lagrima_. Lovino, although muttering about his boyfriend’s tardiness, found himself humming to the music as well.

The younger Italian smiled at his brother’s subconscious reaction. He wasn’t really sure what he was painting, at that point it had been a conglomerate of badly sketched lines, but Feliciano always found a way to make a masterpiece out of the simplest things.

The shrill, yet unmistakable, echo of the doorbell caused Lovino’s body to shoot up from its sluggish state. His brother’s giggled caused his cheeks to flush a light pink, “Don’t even start, Feli.”

A knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “What, me? _No_!” He made a show of grabbing the edge of his painting stool, with his hand which wasn’t occupied by his palette, and winked. His brother shot him a warning glance before he slowly exited the art room, eyes not breaking contact until he was completely out of the room.

Once Feliciano was sure his brother was a safe distance away, he put down his palette and took off, full sprint, toward the door, leaving his brother in a confused daze. Lovino blinked a few times before realizing what his brother’s intentions were and ran after him, a string of Italian curses following.

Feli opened the door, a huge smile on his cute face as he hugged his brother’s boyfriend. A throaty chuckle escaped Gilbert’s lips as he patted his back softly. “Hi, Feli. What a surprise, I thought you were with your grandpa.”

Lovino stood behind them, his arms crossed over his chest. “He was supposed to be,” he muttered bitterly, ignoring the blush on his cheeks when Gilbert laughed.

“Yeah,” he continued, face still stuffed in the German’s chest. Lovino’s patience was wearing thinner and thinner by the second. “Nonno wanted me to keep an eye on him, so I stayed.”

“Only because you told him Gilbert was coming over,” Lovino spat. Feliciano turned his head to stick out his tongue, sometimes they acted more like five year-olds than almost eighteen year-olds. Lovino flicked him off in return.

Gilbert grinned. “That’s alright, now Ludwig won’t feel awkward and alone.” As if to prove his point, he turned his head and cooed, “Isn’t that right, Luddy?”

Ludwig crinkled his nose at the nickname, but said nothing. Lovino, on the other hand, did. “You brought your brother?” He asked, tone slightly less hostile upon seeing his bother let go of _his_ boyfriend.

Gilbert took the opportunity and pulled his agitated boyfriend into a hug, unfazed by the insults and weak punches thrown his way. He kissed his forehead, calming the fists but sparking a new blush. “Gilbert!” Lovino whined, although his tone was lightly authoritarian.

Feliciano smirked at the redness of his older brother’s cheeks and winked, feeding the already outrageous blush. He looked back at the awkward standing German, one who he knew from his P.E. class the semester before, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him inside.

“C’mon, let me show you the art room,” He began as he shot a smug look at his brother. Gilbert chuckled lightly and Lovino rolled his eyes. “I have lots of cool paintings in there. I must warn you though, it’s a mess, but you’ll love it. I promise.”

. . .

“Wow,” Ludwig breathed out as he entered the vivid, rectangular room. The walls were each painted a different, yet oddly similar, shade of blue and decorated with paintings, drawings, photographs and knick-knacks. He remembered his brother saying something about Lovino wanting to be a photographer, and if the pictures hanging on strings were anything to go by he would go a long way.

The closer to the center of the room, the more newspapers laid crumbled together and splattered in various colors. On top of the “protective flooring,” two wooden easels sat, one with a blank canvas and one covered in black brushstrokes.

Various artistic mediums laid haphazardly around the room, causing Ludwig’s heart to clench a bit. _How could someone live with such a mess?_

“I know, right?” Feliciano boasted, eyes scanning every corner of his most prized possession. He tilted his head to the side, chestnut locks brushing over brown eyes, “Would you like to paint?”

Ludwig’s eyes widened in realization. He shook his head and took a subconscious step back. “No, no. I’m fine, thank you.”

The Italian pouted, “C’mon! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“But… I can’t paint.” He murmured, gaze low and hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Feliciano smirked, “Nonsense, everyone can paint. Art is a hobby. You don’t have to be good, you just have to have fun.” He grabbed Ludwig’s hand and positioned him in front of the blank canvas, then rushed around the room to find a stool, palette, and fresh brushes.

Ludwig sighed in defeat and took a seat on the stool. Feliciano showed him the basic techniques, like how to mix colors on the palette, different methods of holding a brush, and the differences the pressure of a stroke could make. By the end of the mini lesson, Ludwig was more confused than he ever had been in his entire life.

“Just relax, and let your creative juices flow.” He made a strange motion with his hand as if to prompt him to continue, and he almost did. _Almost_.

“What do I paint?” he asked, eyes unblinking.

Feliciano sighed, “How about you paint me and I paint you? It’s a little advanced, but I’m sure you can handle it.”

The German crinkled his nose, but nodded nonetheless. Feli giggled, adding color and depth to the lines that once idly decorated his canvas.

. . .

“Let me see!” Feliciano demanded, a soft giggle escaping him.

“No!” Ludwig countered as he continued to hide the painting behind him.

They had agreed to let each other see the paintings once they had at least finished half-drying, but upon seeing Feliciano’s, Ludwig opted to keep his unseen.

Feliciano’s painting captured every detail on the German’s face. From the stern, yet soft facial features, to the sharpness of his jawline, and even the smudge of paint he didn’t even know he housed. Overall, the painting made Ludwig want to rip his to shreds and burn the remnants.

“Ludwig,” Feli shouted with quasi-seriousness.

“Feliciano,” Ludwig mimicked.

Said teenager chuckled. “C’mon, Luddy, it can’t be that bad!”

“But it is,” He whined, holding it closer to his body.

“I am your elder, therefor you have to listen to me and let me see your painting!” He demanded, trying a new approach.

Ludwig frowned. “You’re older than me by half a year.”

“Still older,” He sung, matter-of-factly. The blond shook his head. “Show me your painting or else!”

“Or else what?”

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell Gilbert you’re being a bully.”

“Wow, I’m so scared,” Ludwig scoffed, still not easing his grip on the canvas.

“Oh _Gilbert~_!” Feliciano sang as he skipped out of the room. The German took his absence as a chance to hide the painting. There weren’t many unoccupied, or well hidden, places, but if he stuffed it behind a clutter of junk, Feliciano would never notice.

He opted on a corner of the room, behind a wooden table teeming with brushes, papers, and notebooks. After conforming with the way it was hidden, Ludwig stood straight, unaware of the black spiral that latched onto his shirt until it fell onto the floor.

He blinked, eyes curiously gazing over the cover marked _for the eyes of Feliciano Vargas only._ He chuckled at the scratchy writing. As bent over to pick it up, a wave of curiosity washed over him. His calloused hands rubbed over the ink-soaked paper and he sighed, balancing the book on his hands.

_Well, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek_ , he thought as he flipped the book over. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight. The page he stared at was void of color. Nothing but rough sketches in black pen. Some were distinguishable, others meshed into a circle of unwanted doodles. He turned the page, lips twitching into a frown. It was a sketch of Feliciano, alone, with his back to the wall and his face in his cheeks.

He turned the page again, and again, each giving him the same result as the last one. Black ink marking different events and heartbreaking sketches. Some had words, others merely pictures, but it all gave off the same eerie aura.

“ _Feliciano, get out!_ ” Lovino shouted, followed by a loud shatter and Feliciano’s apologetic screams.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted, footsteps growing closer by the second. Ludwig panicked as he shut the book. Where could he put it that Feliciano wouldn’t–? An echoing _thud_ filled the art room, followed by Feliciano’s, “Ouch.”

Ludwig dropped the book on the floor and rushed over to the clumsy Italian. “Are you okay, Feliciano?” He asked as his hands removed Feli’s from his forehead. He flinched at the bruise and the blood-filled cut on his cheeks, and grabbed him by the hand. “Where do you keep your first aid supplies?”

“Kitchen.” He muttered, still pressing a hand to his forehead. Ludwig nodded as he pulled him to the kitchen and sat him down on one of the cabinets by the sink. “The one closest to the cupboard.”

Ludwig pulled the kit out from the cabinet and muttered low incoherencies to himself. He set it down beside Feliciano and washed his hands, grabbing a wet paper towel in the process. He cupped Feli’s chin gently pressed it to his cheek, chuckling lightly at the way he flinched. “It’s just water, Feli.”

“I know,” he muttered as he began to fiddle with his thumbs. “It’s the stupid stingy stuff I hate that comes next.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow, trying his hardest to conceal a smirk. “ _Stupid stingy stuff_ ,” he muttered in amusement. “It’ll only sting for a second.”

“No it won’t, it stings for – _ouch_! Ludwig why didn’t you warn me?” by the time he brought a hand to his cheek, the blond had already stuck a childish Mickey Mouse Band-Aid on it.

He chuckled lowly, pulling out a bag of assorted flavored lollipops. “I’m guessing these are yours?” Feliciano’s eyes lit up as he attempted to snatch the bag. Ludwig pulled it from his reach just in time and smirked. “You only get one, because you have one cut.”

The Italian pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “I should get two, for my cut and my bruise.”

“Fine.” Ludwig muttered, grabbing the top two lollipops and handing them to Feli. “Was the cut from when you ran into the wall?”

Feliciano was too engrossed in his lollipop to acknowledge that he was being spoken to. “Huh? Oh, no. The cut was from Lovi, he threw a vase at me. It missed, but one of the shards scratched my cheeks when it shattered.” He blinked a few times before continuing, “Fair warning: Don’t go in there.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes as he grabbed a plastic sandwich bag from the counter. “I wasn’t planning on it.” He filled it with ice and wrapped it in paper towel, then pressed it on Feliciano’s forehead. “Keep it there, it should help with the swelling.”

“Thanks Luddy, you’re the best!” Once again, he wrinkled his nose at the nickname. “ _Hmm…_ Do you by any chance know how to make pasta?”

. . .

“Feliciano, that’s not what it says in the–.”

The Italian stopped his movements and looked over his shoulder at Ludwig. He placed a hand on his hip and waved the wooden spoon around in the air as he spoke. “Are you really telling an _Italian_ how to make pasta by following the instructions of a stupid cookbook?”

Ludwig blinked, “Apparently not.” He muttered and he shut the book. His eyes flickered to the growing mess of flour, tomatoes, and various vegetables and he frowned. “Can you at least try not to make so much of a mess?”

“ _Meh-meh-meh-meh-meh-meh_.” Feliciano retorted childishly as he stirred the pot of homemade spaghetti sauce.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re really older than me.” He whispered as he cleaned the area Feliciano had finished with. The Italian huffed and continued to stir, occasionally testing the taste.

“ _Mm_ - _mm_ , something smells delicious.” Gilbert commented when he reached the kitchen. He took a seat on the barstool and drummed on the kitchen counter.

“ _See_? It wouldn’t smell this good if we followed than dumb recipe.” Feliciano commented and Ludwig rolled his eyes. “Where’s Lovi?”

Gilbert smirked, “He’s taking a shower, said he felt dirty. I don’t blame him.”

Feli brought his hands to his ears and shook his head. “Ew! Shut up.” Gilbert broke into a boisterous laugh, crimson eyes shining in the process. Ludwig couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, already used to his older brother’s filter-less mouth.

. . .

As they waited for Lovino, Feliciano put the finished touches on his sauce and began to serve the pasta, making sure to leave left overs for his nonno. Gilbert set the table and Ludwig cleaned up the remnants of Feli’s mess. By the time Lovino was done, all dinner had been served and they all ate in peace…

Well, if peace means Gilbert’s perverted jokes and obnoxious laughter, Lovino’s blushing face, Feliciano’s constant rambling, and Ludwig’s occasional commentary. It was as if the quartet had known each other their whole lives, which may as well have been the case since Lovino had known Gilbert since primary school.

By the time they finished eating, the sun had all but set. Their nonno got home a few minutes before they finished and offered to let the boys stay a little longer. Gilbert and Lovino stayed in the living room as they cuddled and watched Disney movies, although if one asked Lovino he would deny it.

Feliciano and Ludwig ended up back in the art room, Feli’s smirk never fading. “Now can I see your painting?”

The german had nearly forgotten about it, “No.”

“Where is it anyway?” Feli asked as he glanced around the messy room.

Ludwig shrugged, faking indifference. “I don’t know.”

Feli pouted. “Aw, cmon. Don’t be like that, Luddy. Just tell me–.” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes frozen on the floor where Ludwig had stood earlier. Blue eyes widened and blinked, but didn’t not follow the hazel gaze*. “Why is my sketchbook on the floor?”

Ludwig swallowed thickly. His breath hitched as Feli’s betrayed eyes met his. “Did you look through it?”

“I-uh…”

Brown eyebrows furrowed as darkening eyes filled with tears. “Did. You. Or. Did. You. Not. Look. Through. It?”

Each syllable was like a shot through the heart for Ludwig. He nodded slowly; his eyes dropped to the floor when a sharp gasp left Feliciano’s lips. He ran over to the book, picked it up, and hugged it tightly to his chest. “How could you? This is private! The only private thing an artist has in his life is his sketchbook! How would you like it if I read your deepest darkest secrets aloud without your permission?”

“Feli, I’m–”

Angry tears rolled down his eyes as he took an instinctive step back to counteract Ludwig’s step forward. “No! Go away!” He spluttered, his uneven breaths causing his voice to crack.

“Feli, what’s wrong?” Lovino asked as he wrapped his arms around his sobbing brother. Gilbert stumbled into the room soon after and shot a questioning glance at his brother.

“Ludwig went through my sketchbook without my permission!” He shouted, only calming down when Lovino rubbed soothing circles into his back. “Tell him to leave,” Feli whispered into Lovino’s shoulder, although it was heard by everyone in the room. “And tell him to take that dumb painting I did of him.”

The older Italian glared at Ludwig, his head motioning toward the painting of Ludwig on the easel. “You heard him.”

Gilbert stared at his boyfriend, dumbstruck. “You know that if he leaves, I leave too right?”

“Well…” Lovi began, eyes flickering between Feli and Gilbert. He took a deep breath and bit his lip. “If Feli doesn’t want him here there’s nothing I can do.” Feliciano shook his head, as if to stop Lovino’s words. He didn’t want to put his brother’s happiness at stake, he just wanted Ludwig gone.

“Okay,” he muttered with a humorless laugh. He watched his brother grab the painting from the easel and stared at his boyfriend, eyes cold and hurt.

Lovino ignored him and continued to comfort his brother. Many people would think Feliciano’s reaction to be a bit melodramatic and over the top, but that boy had been through so much in seventeen years and the only, private, outlet he had was that hardcover book. Even the kindest angels carry their demons, they’re just really good at hiding them.

. . .

The weeks that followed were quiet and boring in the Vargas household. Lovino and Gilbert’s relationship had been strained. The sketchbook ordeal revealed a trait Lovino had never seen, and didn’t like, in his boyfriend, so he chose to put a break on their relationship. A break which ultimately resulted in day long romantic comedy films while Lovino stuffed his face with ice cream and yelled at the TV.

Feliciano didn’t mind, his brother’s strangely heartbroken state made a great push for creativity. Lovino would curl up on one end of the couch, ice cream in one hand and the TV remote in the other, with a blank draped over his shoulders. Feliciano would sit on the opposite end, sketching the scene before him.

He had yet forgiven Ludwig for his intrusion of privacy. He still couldn’t get his head around the concept of snooping though other people’s things. When he wasn’t sketching his brother, Feliciano sketched betrayal. He didn’t exactly know how his strange patterns of lines represented that idea, but that was the funny thing about art, it’s all about perspective.

And that’s how the weeks dragged on, Lovino in a mild post-relationship-but-not-really depression, while Feliciano sketched. Their grandfather took them out, occasionally. He would get Lovino up from the couch long enough to get dressed and go to the park, where the boys would spend a few minutes playing football before laying on the grass and doing nothing. Then they would go home and do nothing.

Feliciano came to a conclusion on one of those boring days at the park. Gilbert and Lovino’s relationship was strained because both boys, he would say men but c’mon, were extremely stubborn. Lovino’s insistence on the falseness of Feli’s statement only added fuel to the fire. He wanted desperately to get them back together, he blamed himself for their break up.

Feliciano decided to take matters into his own hands once their break hit three weeks. One night, while Lovino showered, he searched through his brother’s nightstand and pulled out one of the top most notes (toward the beginning of their relationship Gilbert would write Lovino at least one note a day, no more than three though).

He snuck into the art room, careful not to turn on unnecessary lights, and began writing an apology note, forging Gilbert’s penmanship and roughly signing his name on the bottom. His brother’s note was much easier to write, being that the twins shared very similar handwriting.

When he finished, he stuffed both the letters in his sketchbook and laid it on the table.

. . .

The following morning Feliciano woke with a smile, surprising even himself. He showered, clothed, and ate all in record time before grabbing his wallet, bag, and sketchbook and heading out. Lovino didn’t even question him.

He walked to the nearest corner store, buying a single rose and a pack of Sour Patch Kids, Gilbert’s favorite candy. He thanked the kind lady, stuffed the resources in his bag along with the sketchbook, and began his walk to the Beilschmidt household.

It was a short, scenic walk but he enjoyed it. It felt nice to be outside willingly for a change. When he arrived at the mahogany door, his finger wavered for a bit before it rang the doorbell. He heard shuffling and angry German shouting before the door pulled open, displaying a disheveled albino, clad in only chick boxers and black socks.

“Hiya, Feli.” Gilbert greeted with a yawn as he stretched on the tip of his toes and rubbed his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Still feeling bitter about the whole sketchbook thing?” He joked, cracking his back in the process.

Feliciano flinched at the sound, but smiled. “Actually, no. Is Ludwig home? Can I speak with him?”

The German blinked, still a little dazed from being woken up, and nodded. “Ludwig, your Italian is here!” He shouted into the house behind him. Said Italian had to calm the blush that kissed his skin.

“Shouldn’t you be dressed?” Feli asked as his eyes flickered to his wristwatch. “It’s almost three in the afternoon.”

Gilbert frowned. “Its summer vacation and I ain’t got nowhere to be. I can dress however I want to dress.” Feliciano shrugged, as if to say _fair enough_ and chewed on the inside of his cheek upon seeing Ludwig’s silhouette.

He muttered quick, indecipherable, german to his brother and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Feliciano took every possible ounce of concentration in his body to rip his eyes away from Ludwig’s physical attributes and meet his eyes. He was there to have a conversation, not to ogle at him.

“Hi.” He started. Good, baby steps.

Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest, earning the attention of Feliciano’s eyes for a spilt second. “Hey.”

Feli blinked. “Okay, this is awkward. Um. Hi, again. I- uh. I sort of… wanted to ask a favor of you. I… um. Would also like to apologize for my behavior a couple weeks back. I actually have–”

“Breathe,” Ludwig interrupted. “One at a time. What’s the favor you need?”

He laughed. “Um… well… you know how your brother and my brother are kind of broken up?” Ludwig nodded, his un-gelled hair brushed the tip of his nose before he pushed it back. “I kind of have a plan to get them back together, since their both too stubborn and neither of them is taking it well.”

“Go on.”

“Haha, _well_. I forged a letter to look like it was written by Lovino, and the same with Gilbert, and I need you to put _Lovino’s_ letter, along with this bag of Sour Patch, in front of your door later tonight.” He handed Ludwig the objects, who chuckled at the rarity of the idea.

“This is something else, Feliciano.” He stuffed the objects in the pockets of his sweatpants. “You think it’ll work?”

He nearly giggled, “I know it will.”

There was a brief moment of thick silence between them.

“Also. I wanted to apologize. I acted on my emotions and let the negative get the best of me. I didn’t mean to kick you out… it just… happened, I guess.”

Ludwig let a smile toy on his lips as he stared at the nervous Italian in front of him. “I forgive you.”

Feliciano blinked and tilted his head to the side. “Really? Thank you!” He exclaimed as he all but jumped on the younger teen to hug him. The blond chuckled and held him.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have looked through it without permission. I didn’t realize it meant so much to you.” Feliciano could feel the vibrations from the German’s voice from his position on his chest and smiled.

“It’s okay. If you would’ve asked it would’ve been a completely different story, though.”

Ludwig chuckled, the sound bringing a calming wave to Feli. They stayed there for a while, Feliciano pressed to his chest while his arms wrapped around his back. Neither of them minded. Neither of them wanted to move. Everything was at peace.

“I had a pretty scarring childhood, one that I may never be ready to express with words so I use art instead. It had nothing to do with my family life, I just happened to get involved where I wasn’t supposed to in middle school and I ended up going through some dark times. I was alone through most of it, even Lovino didn’t know until last year, but I made it through. That sketchbook is the place where I leave all my dark thoughts so they don’t poison the person I am today. I know it sounds stupid, but it really helps.”

For what seemed to be an eternity, neither of them spoke. Ludwig was well aware of his tear-stained shirt and peppered a kiss onto the top of Feli’s head, noting the way his arms tightened around him.

Ludwig didn’t speak, he acted. He cupped Feliciano’s chin with one hand and wiped the salty tears away with the other. Ludwig started with a kiss on the forehead, one that earned a bright blush and a small giggle. He then kissed both temples and the tip of his nose before the Italian grew impatient, balled up a handful of the tight, Under Armor shirt, and pulled him in for a real kiss.

Of course, having the luck he had, they ended up bumping foreheads and laughing. “Very romantic.” Ludwig commented sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up,” Feliciano giggled as he lightly slapped his shoulder. He stood on the tips of his toes and pulled Ludwig’s face down to his height. They shared a moment of understanding, clarity, and unity, hazel eyes lost in blue, before their lips finally met.

Ludwig let his hands rest on the small of Feliciano’s back and closed the gap of space between their bodies. The kiss was chaste, and romantic, one in which they both pulled away because they couldn’t stop smiling. “God, I’ve wanted to do that forever.” Ludwig whispered.

Feliciano kissed him once more. “So have I.”

. . .

“Lovino.” His brother shouted as he entered the house. A groan came from the living room and he sighed. Better now than never. “This was at the door for you. Didn’t you hear the doorbell?”

Lovino looked at the items quizzically. “Nobody knocked. I would’ve noticed.” He took the rose and looked at Feli. “Who do you think–”

“It looks like something Gilbert would do. Read it! Maybe it’s from him!”

The elder of the two wasted no time. He opened the paper with care, eyes scanning over the page and hand trying to push his brother away from reading it. When he finished, he brought the letter to his chest, blushed wildly, and excused himself to his room.

Feliciano smiled to himself. It was only a matter of time before they figured out it was Feliciano’s doing, but at least, according to the laughs and _I love you_ ’s being exchanged over the phone, they were happy. He pulled out his phone and smiled as his fingers tapped away at the keys.

_Feliciano: I think we did it! :)_

Not even a minute later there was a reply.

**Ludwig: Ja, Gilbert finally took a shower after three days.**

_Feliciano: Haha, Lovino’s gone five days without one._

**Ludwig: Gross.**

“Feliciano!” his brother’s voice came from his room. He chuckled.

_Feliciano: They’ve caught on!!_

“You have five minutes to get over here and explain what the heck is going on!” He couldn’t help but laugh as he skipped over to his brother’s room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! I know I had fun writing it!  
> Okay, I'm done! Bye! :D


End file.
